


Yearn

by grogu-pascal (venusx)



Series: Cult AU [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Cults, Breeding Kink, Cult Member Din Djarin, Cult-Typical Misogyny, Cults, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Needs a Therapist, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fantasizing, Fluff if Fluff was Code Word for Yearning, Masturbation, Other tags to be added, Panty Kink, Smut, Somnophilia, Teasing, Unhealthy Relationships, Wet Dream, Yandere Din Djarin, possible cannibalism from grogu; only time will tell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusx/pseuds/grogu-pascal
Summary: Din was a quiet man back then, emerging from one hideaway on the ship only to quickly scurry along to another. You had cut him slack for his awkwardness, chalking it up to his unfamiliarity with you.Now you knew it was because he felt like a pervert.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Reader, Reader & Grogu | Baby Yoda, The Mandalorian/Reader
Series: Cult AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029819
Comments: 39
Kudos: 214





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you enjoy this as a work of fiction! This is not a good model for healthy relationships.  
> ══════════════════
> 
> In this fic, we pretend that the Crest has proper accommodations and is not a Galactic Toyota Corolla.

When you first began working on the Crest, you were responsible for waking Grogu in the mornings. If undisturbed, the child would sleep until mid-day, a bad habit not easily corrected once learned. If Din woke from his rest to find you still in bed, he would simply wake the child as you slept. Rather than admit he was being easy on you because he _liked_ you, he convinced himself that you weren't slacking off, just having a hard time adjusting to your new surroundings.

Din was a quiet man back then, emerging from one hideaway on the ship only to quickly scurry along to another. You had cut him slack for his awkwardness, chalking it up to his unfamiliarity with you. 

(Now you knew it was because he felt like a pervert).

It lasted for a while, the cat-and-mouse between you. But rounding your second month working for him, it began to offend you. He rarely spoke; never addressing you by name and almost never directing his gaze towards you. When you pieced together that his reactions stemmed from nervousness, you suddenly found the way he fumbled over his words amusing. Almost enjoyed the way he shifted in his seat when you got too close. (And his buttons were easy enough to press: even the slightest brush against him could spur a coughing fit).

Din, however, had not felt the same way. The way he fell apart around you embarrassed him. In his mind, his actions around you were transparent. He was constantly worried that somehow you would find out about all of the filthy thoughts that plagued his mind. They were unprofessional at the least, and disrespectful at the most forgiving. He could hardly help himself. Every attempt at self-restraint was met with a bigger hurdle to cross. There was something so erotic about watching you flitter about _his_ ship, taking care of _his_ child, and bandaging _his_ wounds that made his heart beat too fast. You had never been inappropriate with him, and maybe that was worse. For if you had been trying to seduce him, at least he could explain away his constant desire for you. But you had never done or said anything to him unrelated to your job description. And he was left with the burden of self-pity. 

He found brief success in mind-over-matter tactics: pushing back his impure thoughts when they arose. If they confronted him still, he would simply leave your presence until they subsided. But this was not permanent. After a while, he found that even when he was alone, images of you plagued his mind. Your legs spread on his bed. You, bent over the kitchen counter. Your lips begging his name, over and over. 

For weeks after first welcoming you onto the Crest, Din resisted the urge to palm himself in the 'fresher. It became a routine for him: lathering and rinsing slowly, fighting the urge to bury his cock in the crook of his hand, imagining that his fist was your warmth instead. Beyond the obvious disrespect wrought in masturbating to his hired help, to become so weak at the thought of another did not adhere to his creed. Besides the thoughts he had of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, he also found himself... yearning. He daydreamed of holding you closely. Running his fingers through the silk of your hair. Feeling your lips tickle against his stubble. It had become a distraction. He knew he had to stop feeding his mind with possibilities of you two. 

With this in mind, the mandalorian took no conscious action to relieve himself at your expense.

But it happened more than once that he woke with come-stained sheets from rutting against his bed in his sleep. The adjacent dreams threw him deeper into his pit of shame. The first time it happened, he carried his sheets to the refresher in the dead of night, urgently washing away any evidence that he had spilled seed. You woke up and found him, cleaning laundry. When you asked what he was doing, he doubled over, thankful that his back was to you. He muttered a strained, "nothing" and a "go back to bed," and you we're dismissed.

For you to have so nearly seen his spend made his cock ache into the night. 

Hunger as intense as he felt for you could only serve as an interference to his duties. He could not serve both his desires, and The Way. And he had already made a promise to his tribe. Any such arrangement with you could only serve as a derailment of that. So he tried to rationalize his desires away: too much of a distraction, too big of a conflict of interest, too... uninterested in him. Those three things were enough for him to keep away for you. Until the third proved untrue.


	2. Chapter One

Din had a day off, having caught the bounty earlier than expected. He decided to spend it with you. Or as close as he could get to you without feeling feverish. Which, of course, meant secluding himself in his bedroom. His reclusion only provoked your attendance and soon you found yourself seeking him out, sheepishly half-inviting him to dine with you.

You hadn’t meant to walk in on him in a state of undress, but intentions mattered none once you realized he was helmetless. Out of respect (and a healthy helping of fear), you looked downward instead, eyes widening at the bulge in the pants, strewn loosely about his hips. He wore no shirt, revealing a body taut and littered with scars. A fresh wound bared your bandage, and you remembered biting your lips as you worked, tempted to take a look at the skin underneath your bare palms.

You fumbled for words in the doorway of his quarters, cheeks hot and heartbeat skipping. Eager to explain away your invitation and in no way equipped to do so, you stuttered through half-truths. “I didn’t mean like…in _front_ of me,” you said. You had, in fact, meant just that. Your eyes scurried to look anywhere but the front of his pants. "I-I can just bring it in. If that's you want.”

Silence permeated the dark room, echoing against your ears and sending goosebumps across your arms. You felt the heavy of his gaze crawl from your feet, bare against the cool floor, to your breasts, lingering until you began to nervously rub at your neck. Eager to fill the silence, you continued, “I made bantha-butter pancakes and those little eggs. Y'know,” you gestured, “the frog ones? That Grogu likes?” You brought your hands behind you back and kneaded one thumb against the other, awaiting his response. Nothing came. You struggled to find the courage to look at anything but the specs of dust twinkling across the floor.

“I’ll get some after,” he finally said. A buzz climbed down your bones at the sound. You considered staying in his doorway longer; spouting more nonsense just to hear him speak again. Instead you nodded and turned to leave. You weren't sure of the mechanics of his creed, but you knew enough to thank the stars you had been allowed to leave at all.

“Thank you,” he added as you crossed the threshold of the door. You didn’t dare reply, mouth full with embarrassment and unease. You simply turned to close the door behind you. As you walked back to the kitchen, you replayed the melody of his voice in your head.

If only you had known how sweet your own voice had been to hear without the distortion of his helmet. 


	3. Chapter Two

Din made his way into the kitchen, but stopped short of crossing the threshold. Your voice echoed out of the door, intermingled with the child’s coos. He paused there a beat too long in an effort to make out what you were saying. 

He turned off the vocoder in his helmet, fiddling with the controls within to increase speech perception. Neither guilt nor self-reproach called for him as he spied on the two of you. He was positioned around the corner in such a way that he could see just over your back: Grogu was scooped into your lap as you two sat cross-legged on the floor. Between sentences, you scooped a mouthful of eggs into the child’s mouth, excess collecting at the frame of his lips before you gathered it back on the spoon to feed him again. He admired your gentleness with Grogu, despite his constant urging against it. He could not deny how beautiful you looked like this: eyes bright with happiness, cheeks shining with your smile. You brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and he sighed longingly. How he longed to mimic your touch, to join you in this moment with the child.

Din often voiced his disdain for the way you spoiled Grogu so: spoon feeding him and carrying him about the Crest. Of course you knew it wasn’t wise to baby the child, but your heart ached for him. You were alone once too, abject from touch and affection. You understood how that could affect a child. So you ignored his urge for caution and lavished Grogu with praise and hugs and kisses anyways. And the womp-rat of a child made sure to return his own affections in kind, babbling at you lovingly and showing off force-tricks.

Din listened as your voice carried out of the kitchen, hushed and warm as you raised a spoonful of food to the child’s lips, “maybe your daddy will take us to get some fruit today, hmm?”

At that, Din felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Heat rushed from his bucket to his member, pants tightening nearly instantly. His breathing stuttered as his fingers gripped at the metal of the ship, pressing his back against it to steady his balance. 

“Would you like that?” you mused to the child, unaware of the mandalorian’s presence outside of the door. Din struggled to hear you in this new position. That wouldn't do. He turned the volume up once more, and waited for your voice to fill his helmet. “If he’s still resting,” he heard you say, “Mommy can just take you.“

A groan rumbled in his chest. He was thankful that he had muted his vocoder. Shame temporarily forgotten, his hand flew to his cock, palming gently with closed eyes as his mind raced. Unfiltered desire shot straight through him at the thought of making you a mother for real. You always took such good care of Grogu, busying yourself with developmental activities and schooling and Din could keep you even _busier_. 

His thoughts begun to color with greed. He could fuck a litter into you, start a clan. Fuck you into his bed and never let you leave the Crest. Make you yearn for him as badly as he had been yearning for you. It could be easy enough. First he’d need permission from the—

The sound of your footsteps approaching interrupted his thoughts. He ripped his hands from his trousers, fueled by the fear of being caught. He scurried away hastefully, retreating to his quarters, mind full of worry. What would you have thought if you caught him snooping? How would he have ever convinced you to be with him then?


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-divergence here. We're pretending that the Mando covert on Nevarro is tricked out. I don't care, you don't care, let's just enjoy the story, eh.

You gathered your things and made for the gangway of the Crest, Grogu trailing behind slightly. His feet shuffled against the ground, webbed toes echoing soft _squishes_ against the walls. You hesitated briefly at the door, contemplating whether it was worth it to invite Din after the embarrassment that this morning had already brought you. It was to be a brief trip anyway. You were just stopping into the market to get a few things for dinner. Nearly routine.

Having successfully talked yourself out of it, you pressed the ramp's release button and listened as it hissed its way down. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Din approached. He was decent now, wearing a full-suit of armor instead of the shirtless "ensemble" that had burned its way into your brain. He cleared his throat and asked, "where are you headed?"

You gestured behind you, to the view of the city, "just...out." That sounded stupid. "You know, to the market."

He shuffled his feet. Awkward tension built, and again, you felt the need to talk your way out of it. "I was going to ask if you wanted to join me—us," you corrected. "Grogu likes the hubba gourd they sell here, and you seemed to like the eggs from this morning, so I was going to get more for dinner. Before they closed for the day."

"Yes," he said. It confused you. Yes to what exactly? That he liked the eggs? That Grogu liked the gourd? That he would accompany you? You had known this man for months, and the communication between you had not gotten easier. 

Instead of questioning it, you nodded your head, grabbing at your bag shyly. You turned towards the exit, making your way down the ramp. You figured that whatever he meant, he would sort it out himself. "You want help little guy?" you said, extending your hand out towards the child. Grogu grabbed your finger with his hand and stepped cautiously. As you reached the planet's earth, you turned around to raise the gangway, only to come face-to-face with Din. How had he done that? How had you not heard the metal of his boots against the platform? 

"Oh!" you exclaimed as you bumped into his chest. He cleared his throat and offered a half-apology, "I didn't meant to frighten you."

"No," you lied, "I'm not frightened. I guess you can just close the ship with your...." As if reading your mind, he pressed a button on his bracer and the ramp began to close slowly. Before it had the chance to finish, Din began to walk in the direction of the market. "The sun will set soon," Din said, "we should probably hurry." You quickly lifted Grogu into his carriage and hurried to keep pace, feet crunching against the hard soil.

The three of you travelled in relative silence for a while, with Grogu babbling occasionally and Din offering approving huffs in return. A sheen covered your skin beneath the fabric of your clothing, which did nothing to stop the dampness that seemed to hang in mid-air. 

The whistle of the wind carried your voice forward to Din, who had gained a lead on you once more. "So," you said. "The Way, huh?" Din half-turned his head to look in your direction.

You wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead and repeated yourself. "The Way? What's that about again?"

He paused for a bit before answering, "it's a creed. Every mandalorian swears by it. It helps us remember what's important."

"What kind of things are important?" you asked, gaze drifting from his back to the child at his side.

"Peace," he spoke, "safety, family."

The third item brought up a concern you had developed earlier in the day. You weren't typically one to judge but Grogu was...green and Din was not. Your mind flickered to the image of Din's half-dressed body from earlier before you could shake the thought from your head. Perhaps Grogu's mother had been green. "Family?" you echoed. "Are there female mandalorians?" 

He stopped walking and you silently cringed at your assumption. Perhaps some mandos could reproduce alone. Perhaps some could reproduce within the same sex. You hadn't meant to embarrass him, if either of those things were the case. You used the opportunity to catch up with him. He reached into Grogu's carriage and dug out a bottle of water, offering it to you as he spoke. "Not many. But family can be found. I was found once." 

You drank hungrily, chest heaving with each gulp. He spoke again, "Mandos took me in when I was young. My parents..." his voice began to quiet, "were not around."

"'s that why you keep him around?" you pointed with your chin at Grogu as you fixed the lid on the bottle of water, "is he gonna be a mando?"

Din chuckled and a smile found its way to your cheeks. It sounded beautiful. The scene itself was beautiful, really, the way the setting suns shone against his beskar, the sight of his son trailing next to him. The ripple of his cape blowing in the wind. You watched as he shook his head, finally answering you. "No. His kind aren't allowed."

"His kind?" your nose scrunched up. "What've you guys got against green people?" you kid, hoping to hide the concern in your voice. Surely he wasn't suggesting that his own child suffered some inadequacy. 

Silence.

Well, that joke didn't land. You tried again, "Can't you guys just...make more younglings on your own? Why take them away from their parents?"

"We don't steal them," he said, "if that's what you're suggesting." You listened as something like irritation crept into his voice. "We call them foundlings. Making more younglings is more complicated than it seems," he said. 

"Sex? Complicated?" You heard him wheeze at your boldness. 

"Yes. No. There aren't many suitable women. The Way requires that—" Din wasn't sure how to explain that part to you. You were asking more questions than usual. Yes, there were a few mandalorian women on Nevarro. But nearly all of them had chosen paths inconsistent with motherhood. Though family was a tenant of The Way, it was not the _only_ way. Many went on to be hunters and warriors. He watched as you tensed at his words and worried that he might be scaring you away.

"Sometimes," he spoke, "a mandalorian may marry an auretti, and a youngling that way." That was a lie. It had never been before that clan leaders permitted auretti-mandalorian marriage. If an accident happened, clan leaders would not turn a child away, but any plan to marry an outsider—one who had not sworn the creed—was a plan in vain. 

"Auretti?" you asked, "that's someone like me, right? A non-mandalorian?"

That's exactly what that meant. He was glad you asked. "Yes," he answered, chest broadening at your interest. It felt good, to be interesting. "It's quite nice, the covert we have here," he continued. He couldn't help himself, but to look back at you. The way your eyes twinkled with admiration at him made him fill with pride. He would say anything to provoke your gaze to linger longer. "We have a school for the younglings. A training center, a library. Two cafeterias. A large gym—"

"And it's all here? On Nevarro?" you interrupted, stopping in your tracks. Din kept walking, grin beaming under his helmet, "yes. About ten kliks from here."

"Oh Din, you have to take me!" he heard you exclaim. You ran in front of him, grabbing at his shoulders, shaking gently. He used all of his might not to lean into your touch. "Please!" you added.

Your mind was racing. Grogu would love it. It had been ages since you had read and you were eager to make up for lost time. Maybe you could meet some of Din's friends. Get a good night's rest on a more comfortable bed. You began to mentally prepare an itinerary as you awaited his answer. 

Din marvelled at your face, painted with adoration so distinct that he could not fathom denying you. Somewhere within, he knew better than to agree, knew he was entrenching himself too deeply into the fantasy of a future with you. But even further down, he thought it possible that he might, by fate or luck or creed, truly end up with you.

He found himself content with the notion as he nodded at you, bringing a gloved hand to caress your head. "Of course," he said, stroking your hair gently. "They'd love to have you." He watched your lips break into a smile as you skipped away, gaining the lead with a newfound burst of energy.

That much was true. He just wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand just _how much_ they would love to have you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bullying me into continuing this honestly. I actually like it again.
> 
> Posted this chapter 5 minutes after finishing it because I promised I would update this fic before the end of the week and it's 6 til midnight. Sorry for any obvi errors. I'm so excited this is gonna be so hot.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: (chapter spoilers) somnophilia (no-intercourse)

After the two of you returned from market, Din saw to it that both you and Grogu got to bed. He watched the way your feet dragged with each step, whole body teetering with slumber as you took Grogu to his hammock. It had been a long day, and he was sure that your exhaustion was not only from the long walk, but from your excitement as well. After you swaddled the child in his blankets, Din shuffled behind you with each step until you made it to your room, gingerly tucking you in between the covers.

In the corner of his eye, a garment, sat delicately on your little desk, called to him. Double-checking that you were asleep, he lifted it from its position and thumbed the fabric. His mouth went dry. It was a pair of your underwear. Lust grew goosebumps on his skin. He ran them between the fingers his gloves longingly. The lace caught against an errant sprick of leather and he fought back a groan. He imagined his bare hands on you in bed, squeezing the flesh of your ass, fingers dancing along the silhouette of the panties. 

His mind flashed to somethinking darker: you in tears, mouth plugged with lace as he pummeled into you from behind.

His eyes darted over to you, asleep in bed, as he contemplated the morality of his actions. He knew he that he should stop what he was doing and leave. But he wanted so terribly to touch you again.

Just caressing your hair earlier had been intoxicating: the way you snuggled against his chest, softened in his hold. Perhaps if he just sat next to you, the feeling would subside.

He moved quietly to take a seat on the bed where you slept, gently setting one hand down on your head to smooth your hair. He could hear his own heart beat thump in his ears. He rubbed the lace in his free hand, shifting in his seat desperately to find friction. His plan had backfired: his desire for you had only increased tenfold. He tried to reason with his urges. It was out of the question for him unbutton his trousers and relieve himself here: the sound of his armor clanking against itself might wake you. But if he kept him armor on, only rubbing his cock gently through the fabric of his garments, he might calm enough to stop from waking you and taking you right there.

He thought of tightening his hold on your hair and shaping your throat to his will. The image of his cock lodged in your throat, lips covered in spit and eyes wet with apology, was depraved, only serving to spur him on further. He increased the pressure of his palm. The sound of the fabric scratching against his skin grew in the room, but he was sure you were too deep in sleep to rouse from it. The sight of the panties wrapped around his fist made him throb. He imagined pulling the thin fabric away from your pussy, slick with wetness. He would taste you. Sing your praises as he licked fat stripes against your clit.

Precum soaked through his pants and he nearly groaned in agony. He couldn't hold back much longer. He brought his hand from your hair to your lower lip, resting the weight of his thumb against it. He closed his eyes, wondered what you would look like as you orgasmed. Would you giggle? Would your voice crack in pleasure? Would you flash a grin like earlier, eyes sunny and smile _—_

"Din?" he heard you speak. Fear shot through him. He frantically moved his panty-clad hand from the front of his pants and gasped. No. His cock jerked involuntarily as you spoke and he braced himself against your headboard. A small moan left him.

"What's the matter Din?" you said sleepily. You opened your eyes halfway, but made no effort to move.

"Just wanted to m-make sure you were okay," he gritted through clenched teeth. Ropes of come shot against the inside of his garments as he gazed into your eyes. He prayed that you couldn't the damp spot that began to form there as his come seeped past the thick layer of fabric.

"Mmm," you moaned tiredly. He stayed there, catatonic until he was sure you had fallen asleep again. As quietly as he could, he lifted himself from your bed, come sticking his pants to his skin. His heart nearly imploded as you grabbed his leg and pulled him down to you again, adjusting yourself to lay your head on his lap.

He could do nothing in response, simply holding his hands awkwardly in the air, mouth agape in mortification. You merely yawned, and fell back under the spell of sleep, too deep in dream to note the sticky substance that dampened your cheek or the panicked breath emitting from Din's vocoder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was pretty filthy amiright

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗸𝘂𝗱𝗼𝘀. Got something to say? 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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